LA's Finest
by racharoni
Summary: Extremely AU. Buffy is the LAPD's finest undercover officer, and Spike's Robin Hood shtick is her newest assignment. *CH.5 UP*
1. Rang Midnight

**Title:** LA's Finest

**Rating:** PG-13.. nothing that couldn't happen on the show, I guess.

**Disclaimer: **The crowd chanted loudly, "Defense! Defense!" I clutched the ball in my hands, waving it wildly to escape my man's steal attempts. I scanned for an open, and caught a glimpse of shiny red hair in an otherwise empty corner of the court. "Joss!" I passed it to the man in the shortest pink shorts, with the number 13 on it. He caught it, and dribbled in place. Joss had a wide-open shot, but guards were fast approaching. "Shoot, Joss! Shoot!", I screamed. He yelled back, "Not until you say that the shows belong to me! Me! And that you're not going to make any profit from writing your pathetic--".. "Okay, Joss! Yes! Just shoot!", I desperately interrupted. He launched the ball at the basket, but it landed on my mother's head in the audience instead. She is now in a coma.

**Summary:** Extremely AU. Buffy is the LAPD's finest undercover officer, and Spike's Robin Hood shtick is her newest assignment.

**Feedback: **Why is this even here? Who, in their right mind, would say no?

* * *

Elizabeth Summers shuffled mercilessly through countless manila folders and government-branded sheets, jotting down notes at any given moment. The sight of her hair tied back, holster and leather jacket on the chair, and makeup practically nonexistent could tell any random passerby that she's been there since daybreak. 

"Buffy, it's midnight. You're not going to accomplish anything half-dead, so why don't you just go home already?"

Rupert slipped on his coat as he walked over to Buffy's desk, mindlessly passing by the daily shuffle of the police station.

"I can't, Giles. I've been working on this case for so long and I think if I just--"

"Drop dead, it'll solve itself? I'm the boss Summers, and I say go home."

"Oh no, you're calling me Summers again. It isn't that bad, is it?"

Giles just stared at her, his face screaming, "duh!".

"Harris already left hours ago, and you should've done the same," he argued.

"Well that's _Xander_. Just because the guy's my partner doesn't mean I'm supposed to be as lazy and half-witted as he is--"

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

"Go home."

* * *

"Stupid Giles. Telling me when to go home and do my work and.. and.. being a big stupidhead!"

Buffy turned the ignition on her steel blue Chrysler, and headed out the station lot. She turned off the CB, and on the radio. "Then again," she thought, "off-duty's looking pretty sexy right now." The radio blasted, and she thanked goodness she didn't have a headache tonight. Tapping on the steering wheel with the beat, she sang dramatically along with the radio.

"Oh-- I! I just _died_ in your arms tonight! Must've been somethin' you say-ead.. I!.. I just.."

Her cell phone rang and she muttered, "Pfft.. when I finally get some me time, of course this happens."

Contradicting her mutter, she cherrily answered, "Hello?"

"Hey Buff! How was work?"

"Eh, ya know Wills. Just the usual underpaid adrenaline-pumping deskwork. Haven't actually gone out for a case in a while. How'd you know I just got off?"

"I know because I actually _know_ you. Geez, it's been ages since you've been out with the gang too, ya know?"

"Oh poppycock. What about that time when we had that big dinner with--"

"Buffy, that was Thanksgiving."

"Oh."

"That's the reason I called though. We're all going to Starbucks for lunch tomorrow. Wanna come with?"

"Starbucks? Really? What's the special occasion?"

She wasn't being sarcastic, at those prices and at her wage.

"Oh I don't know. You? And your gracing us with your presence?"

"Fine, I get the message. I'll be there. The one across from the station, right?"

"Yep! Specially picked location and everything!"

"Haha, Willow. See ya then, bye."

"Bye!"

She took a second of silence to get back into her groove.

"Oh-- I! I just _died_ in your arms tonight!"

* * *

~Next chapter, meet the rest of the gang!~


	2. Concentrated Daydreaming

**Disclaimer: **I spotted him in the corner of my eye. Tight leather pants and a wife-beater would catch anyone's attention on this guy. I approached him, asking to buy a rose for a friend. "Okay," Joss answered. "Just remember, all your base belongs to me." He was right, it did. The show belongs to that redhead, no matter how much I write. He gave me the thumbs up, and a ten dollar rose.

**Feedback: **Thanks for all the feedback so far. It fuels me to write more. As for the Lindsay/Kate request, this is mainly a Buffy/Spike fic.. but they _might_ be able to make an appearance. :)

* * *

"Five more minutes, Xan," Buffy concentrated on a file, then scribbled something down on a piece of paper. "I think I'm on to something," she said.

"Buff, it's lunchtime. The gang'll be waiting for us. You can come back to your oh-so-exciting research later."

Xander put his hands on Buffy's desk, facing her. She relaxed, and looked at him.

"It's just that this case is so.. it gets under my skin, is all. There's something about this guy that--"

"We can talk about the case when we get back. Let's _go_ already."

* * *

Buffy leaned on the counter, looking up at the menu.

"Miss, you're holding up the line."

"Maybe that'd happen less often if you get a shorter menu. I'll take a Tall Iced Caffè Latte," she answered.

"I'll just have a Tall Hot Chocolate, please," added Xander.

Buffy glanced at the line next to her, helping herself to an eyeful of a man ordering. Bleached blonde hair, a bit ruffed, topped a face with chiseled good looks and gorgeous blue eyes. He wore a leather duster over a black shirt, which was tight over a perfectly lean figure, and a pair of black jeans. With a look like that, Buffy knew he was ultimately a cop or a criminal. Something in that general circle.

"Buffy?" asked Xander, snapping Buffy out of her trance. "Let's go."

They got their drinks and headed over to the table.

"A bit stressed today, Buffy?"

"I guess. Why couldn't we just go to Dunkin' Donuts? It's so much less hectic there."

"What with all the cops? With which to discuss your case? Geez Buffy, take a break."

"Still," Buffy complained, "You know you want a donut right now."

They sat down at their table, inching along the rest of the crew.

"Yay! It's Buffy! Look guys, we have a Buffy!" exclaimed Willow, as she resisted the urge to clap.

"Finally! We haven't seen you around since--"

"Thanksgiving. I know, Anya. I just have this huge case and I'm--"

"No no no, Buff. We're not going to talk about the case that took you away from us for a month," said Xander. 

"Yeah. Do you _know_ how much my shopping has suffered because of your absence?" Cordelia added.

"Okay, sorry guys. We'll talk about something else. What's been going on for a month in the lives of my trusty friends?"

Xander sipped on his hot chocolate, and yelped immediately afterwards.

"Xander, blow on it first," Willow instructed with concern.

"I know. It's just I always forget."

Buffy's phone rang.

"Ugh, sorry guys. I have to take this. Hello?"

"Buffy?"

"Giles, what's up?"

"Emergency meeting. We just discovered something that'll give you the opportunity to go undercover."

* * *

William Kinney watched the blonde hang up and leave her friends. "Nothing short of beautiful," he thought to himself. With plain blue jeans and a white tank top under a brown leather jacket, she probably didn't care much about her appearance. Still, something that utilitarian looked like a million dollars on that girl.

"Sir?" the cashier was hesitant to shout at him, as he was holding up the line in his daydreaming. "Your Tall Iced Caffè Latte?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, thanks mate."

He took the drink and headed out the shop. Spikey was late for work.

* * *


	3. Tossed Demeanor

**Disclaimer: **I could feel it go down, and the panel indicated that the 12th floor was near. I sighed, ready to be relieved of my temporary claustrophobia. At the 10th floor, however, a redhead decided to enter the elevator. After the doors closed, he leered at me and pressed the emergency stop button. "Are you the one they call Racharoni?" he asked. "Yes, but please.. let me out of here. I-- I can't breathe," I replied. "Well then, that's how it'll be," he said. "What?" I cried, banging my hands against his extremely flabby chest, "Let me go!". "Not until you agree that the show belongs to me, and you won't make any profit out of your ridiculous stories-- loser!" I screamed okay. I haven't left the 12th floor since then.

**Feedback: **Thanks again for those who bother to drop a note, I'm glad you like it so far. :)

* * *

Giles lead Buffy into the interrogation room, where a man in cuffs slouched in a wooden chair. He glanced up at her upon her entrance, and the dim lighting revealed his face. Brown eyes squinted at her, hooded under a heavy brow. He fidgeted in the cuffs, and his bulky muscles accentuated the movement in his wife beater.

"Buffy, meet Angel O' Connor," Giles tossed the man's files to her. "New York's finest thief, who made the mistake of coming to LA."

"Pleased to meet you," she said with a raised brow, and a tone that indicated that she was anything but pleased.

"Sure," Angel replied nonchalantly.

"We've made a deal with Mr. O' Connor," Giles added. "He's willing to introduce you to the local burglary crime syndicate, in exchange for two years off his sentence."

"Where would you take me?" Buffy asked the thief.

"A party. It's going to be big with the thieves, so you might find whatever you're looking for," he said. Buffy refused to be intimidated by his cool demeanor and his penetrating gaze, but needed to turn to Giles nonetheless.

"So how's this going to function, Chief?" she asked.

"Mr. O' Connor will pose you as a-- a date, and introduce you to whomever he can. You'll try to get more information, and set up anything that will get you further with these people," said Giles.

* * *

"Cameras, motion detectors, and a fingerprint scanner."

"All that for a bloody ring?" Spike asked.

"A bloody five million dollar ring, yes," Wesley replied. He stood from his seat at his desk and went to the bookcase nearby. "You'll know where everything is, but I don't know how you'll get past it all," he added as he took a large leather-bound book off a shelf. He opened it, revealing the book to be hallow, and took out a big folded map. He tossed it to Spike. "The blueprints," he said.

Spike opened it up and laid it on the coffee table. His face read that of confusion and concentration. "You've got some hi-tech nonsense to get me through this, right mate?" he asked, sipping his latte.

"I'm trying to get some things, but it's difficult when all the money from the last job is running out. You gave too much, we needed some leftover fo--"

"Don't start again, Wesley. I give what I see proper, end of conversation."

"Fine," Wesley sighed, "Just go to that party tonight. We need to keep your rep up, or we'll lose allies."

"Pfft. I don't care about those sodding thugs. We don't need them to get by."

"Yes, we do. They know who you are, so you need their respect."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Those ponces worship my feet, and you know it. Just making a couple appearances will keep them heeding," he said.

Wesley sat back on his chair, and spun to face the computer. Without looking back he said, "That bravado's going to get your arse kicked someday."

* * *


	4. Obligatory Underground

**Feedback: **As always, thank you for the lovely feedback. I'd of course love to hear what everyone thinks as the story progresses!

* * *

The alley was slick with the aftereffects of rain, as Angel led the detective through it. A thick metal door was off to the side, and he stepped to knock on it.

"Eh?" a voice from the other side asked, as if it was the question that would led to every answer it needed.

"Angel," he answered. A slit of a window was slide open from the other side, and two dark eyes peeked through. The door was bolted open, and the should-be couple were granted entrance.

"Angel!" the bouncer exclaimed. "Where ya been? Haven't seen you around in ages," he said, a smile gracing the bulky man's face.

"Just settling around, Tito. You know," he answered, gesturing to Buffy.

"Oh, hey. How you doin'?" he asked Buffy, with an invading glance.

"I'm doin'," she answered.

"See ya later Tit," Angel patted him heartily on the back, and it barely fazed the man as they inched their way into the party. Tito frowned at the nickname and silently muttered spiteful curses at the fading 'Angel'.

Buffy only now had the chance to check out her surroundings. It was an industrial-type interior, clearly setup recently for a shindig. One might mistake it for a club, with the pulsating music and lights that scanned the dark place. It was cool enough for the mass of sweaty bodies to not heat up the place, nor the cigarette smoke that filled the air. The large area was complete with tables, a dance floor, and a bar. "Whoever's hosting the party must be criminally loaded," thought Buffy.

* * *

He found himself a nice quiet wall to lean on, and dug into his duster for a pack of cigs. Spike hated going to these obligatory functions, but Wesley was fairly pushy for the ponce that he was. It was the same old thing. Trashy chits threw themselves on him, wankers tried to talk business, and he'd always find himself against a wall. It was better that way, he figured. They get few words out of him and he plays it all lonewolf-like in the corner, and then they could use their imaginations to credit whatever cool demeanor they figured him for having. The system worked.

Spike lit his cig and tossed the match wherever, savoring the tobacco that'd be the death of him. He scanned the room once more, eyeing a couple that had just entered. Angel had has hand on the small of-- a gorgeous girl Spike knew he saw in the coffee shop. He looked her up and down, nearly shocked at the revealing blood red number she wore. It hugged her curves and flowed in all the right places, taking every ounce of Spike's attention. The few thoughts about her that didn't concentrate on her beauty wondered why she was all done up in the first place. His gut assessment at the coffee shop was that the girl was a down-to-earth working girl. He figured her for smart, witty, and everything and anything he'd savor. "Seems she's a bit more complicated than I wagered," thought Spike.

* * *

"So who's the biggest wig in this joint?" Buffy leaned into Angel asking the question as they worked their way to the crowd. Angel's eyes skimmed over the people, drinking in the ones who he'd need to mind. 

He whispered into her ear, invading enough to touch his chapped lips on her lobe, "Two geezers at the bar. They sponsor all the big guns. Anything from Meth to pickpockets. Tonight, it's burglary. Short and stocky over on the dance floor, with the prossies all over him, he's into collecting museum crap. Peroxide on the wall's pretty slick. He's the youngest here, he's never been caught, and he should be loaded-- even if he doesn't show it."

Buffy stared in concentration at the man she'd seen at the coffee shop as Angel prattled on. He wore the same black number from Starbucks, sucked on a deathstick, and played the lone wolf shtick with all his might.

"Tell me more about Peroxide," she interrupted, not taking her eyes away from the man at the wall.

"Alright," he answered with all the nonchalance the New York accent could bring. "Name's Spike. British. Far as the underground knows, he's only involved in this business. Came out of the woodworks around two years ago. No one knows much about him," he concluded.

"Introduce me."

* * *

He crushed the cigarette with the heel of his boot and answered the ringing cell phone.

" 'ello?"

"Spike? How's the party?"

"Just dandy, mum. Crumpets when I come home?"

"Haha, Spike. Listen, about the next job--"

"More problems? I don't care about whatever technical mumbo jumbo you run into, seeing as how I can't do anything about it--"

"Spike, it's something else. I think we're going to need another person..."

"What? Not on your life, wanker. We can't ruin this now by bringing some halfwit--"

"There's no possible way for you to get through these lasers. You're just not agile enough, and you need someone--"

"Oh, a bird then? You're wasting your breath, mate. There isn't anyone here with the finesse or the brains you're looking for..."

"Are you sure? It's very--"

"I'll get back to you," he said softly as he pocketed the cell. Spike's crystal gaze met green and his mouth gaped just a bit, as Angel and his new girl approached him.

* * *


	5. Bleeding Cover

A/N- Don't worry, there are still absolutely NO vampires and such in this AU. Also, I upped it to an R rating. For violence, sexual things, and language. All that good stuff. ;)

* * *

Steve had wispy brown hair and laugh wrinkles on either side of his murky green eyes. He sat at his mahogany desk, smoked his cuban cigar, and listened to his minion's pleas.

"Honest boss, it was gone before we got there... and the alarm was already off, we couldn't do nothing."

Steve was a patient man. No wait, he wasn't. So Steve stood up from his leather chair and picked up his steel gun. Steve shot Frank in the foot. Frank reeled in pain, tears wetting his eyes. He hopped on his good foot, and his hands tended to the bleeding one.

"Boss-- boss, please. We couldn't do nothing. I--"

By then Steve had rounded his desk, Frank bleeding on Steve's snakeskin shoe. His knee shot up and knocked Frank's face back into the marble floor.

Frank looked up to see Steve staring down at him, and his bigger compadre Phil still standing behind. Phil was struggling to look impartial, staring blankly ahead into the dark window behind Steve's desk.

"Why is it so hard to find good help these days, Frank?"

Steve took a few steps to Frank's side, who was whimpering in pain and had fear marring his pale face. 

The heel of a snakeskin shoe was stomped into Frank's left hand, purposely grinding it into the marble. More yelps came from the tear-stained Frank, along with incoherent pleads for mercy.

"Aw Frank, you're going to stain the floor with that crap," Steve pointed to Frank's bloody foot.

"Boss, wait-- I can-- I can get the money still. There's lax security next week for this museum.. we can get 5 mil-- easy," he sniffed and tried to hold back the tears that wouldn't stop. Steve paused the motion of his heel, but didn't remove the weight from Frank's hand.

"How are you two lugs supposed to get in, if you can't even rob a fucking bank?"

"Ea-- easy boss. The Slayer."

Steve lifted his foot off Frank's hand.

"Phil, get this dope fixed up. He really should be more careful. And Frank?"

"Yeah boss?"

"Call me Steve," he smiled.

* * *

Xander set the bags full of Chinese down at the round wooden table, and took off his coat.

"Buff's undercover again? So what's the lowdown, Xan-man?" Willow asked. Xander distributed the boxs to all the girls and sat down himself.

"You know the rules, Will. Don't even try it," he said.

"Aww, not even a smidgen of top secret information?" she batted her eyelashes, and Xander blushed a bit.

"Fine, a smidgen. Just a smidgen, mind you," he said.

"Yay! Now I feel all illegal," she said.

"Feels kinda tingly, right?" asked Anya, and Willow just shrugged.

"Okay, so you know the case she's been working on this whole time?" asked Xander.

"Yeah, she's completely obsessed," said Cordelia, twirling lo mein unto her chopsticks.

"Well, that's the one she's going undercover for. It's this whole pro thief thing she wants solved," he said.

"Damn, going undercover now must be like-- sex for Buffy," said Cordelia.

"She's having sex?" Anya perked.

"Er-- I don't know. She could I guess, if she wanted to," answered Xander. He reached for a piece of duck from Willow, but she slapped his hand away.

"Good for her. Rich criminals are sexy," said Anya.

* * *

Spike shook off the daze and smirked. Buffy went through a second of hesitation as his eyes seemed to pierce her cover, but it quickly faded. It was not unnoticed, however. The detective has not once before in her undercover career felt her nerves twinge like they had. She wondered if it was because he had seen the real Buffy, at the coffee shop. She wondered if it was because the real Buffy had seen him. Then she made the decision to stop wondering, as that would be best. She couldn't, though.

"Hello luv. Buffy, was it?"

She hesitated again. Now he knew her name, too. He must've heard it at Starbucks.

"You two know each other?" asked Angel, slightly tightening his grip around Buffy's waist.

"Nah, just crossed paths once," she finally spoke. This was bad, though. She was good at her job because it was pretending. She leaves Buffy at home and puts on her mask. Nothing she does touches Buffy Summers. Tonight, it seemed, Buffy had followed her to the party. Buffy was peeking out of the mask.

"This is Spike, Buffy. If you don't already know," said Angel.

"What's with this crowd? Nicknames make it easier on the brain?" Buffy asked.

"I left my real name a long time ago, ducks. But if you must know-- it's William Kinney," he offered his hand, and Buffy shook it.

Buffy's stomach did that floppy thing again, and she felt something familiar in this man. Something past the coffee shop. Something that spooked her.

Angel's eyes nearly went wide at hearing the man's real name. He didn't think Spike ever mentioned it to anyone before. Funny how he decided to reveal himself to the first undercover agent that came his way.

"Any good jobs coming your way, Spike?" asked Angel.

"Matter of fact, yeah. Rather not share the specifics, if you don't mind."

"Aw, come on Spike. I'm sure Buffy'll love to hear it."

"Tell me, what's the poofter playing at this time?"

"Nothing. The lady just gets off on these things, ya know?" he winked, moving his hand down to grab Buffy's backside. 

She leaned into him and whispered, "Don't push it, or you'll be sharing your cell with a sex offender."

Angel whispered back, "Aw, then we'll have something in common," he licked her ear. That was beyond enough, and she pushed him harshly off her.

"Hey mate, if she doesn't want to, you oblige," Spike intervened. Angel grabbed Buffy's wrist, so tight that it might've bruised.

"Trust me when I say she's got plenty of reason to oblige herself," he smiled, diving in again at Buffy. Spike pulled away Angel by his arm and clenched his jaw.

"Don't touch her," Spike demanded. Angel pulled Buffy's body forcefully towards him, ignoring Spike's warning. Spike pulled Buffy away and punched Angel hard, in the the nose.

"Aw shit! You son of a bitch!" Angel yelled, clutching at his bleeding nose. Spike took Buffy by the hand and ran through the crowd toward the door. He knew Angel had his posse closeby and he couldn't risk what they'd do to the girl.

He halted abruptly when Tito stepped in front of the door, blocking their exit. He breathed hard and quickly considered his options. Tito smiled, however, and opened the door for them to leave.

"Thanks, mate!" Spike yelled, running with Buffy down the alley. Tito closed the door behind him. Angel and a group of men ran to the door a while later.

"Where'd they go, Tit?"

"Where'd who go, Angie?" he asked innocently.

* * *


	6. Gallant Thief

"Faster," he panted.

"Hello? Puddles and stilettos... not the easiest thing in the world."

As they ran through the alley, Buffy's mind whirled. This Spike character had screwed up the whole plan. She had to think quickly, and he would have to be the center of a new one. "Small-town girl from Sunnydale who got mixed up with bad company. Nowhere to go. Perfect," she thought. She'd have to switch her role a bit suddenly, but it was an easy one.

"Wait!" she stopped. "Everything I own is in his car!" she pointed to a parked black Lincoln. Spike looked back towards the party entrance, and then at the car. It seemed he was calculating chances. Spike sprinted toward the vehicle, with Buffy lagging behind. He took out a long wire and used it to jimmy the lock, and Buffy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Car thief too," she thought.

"Get in," he said. So she got in. Spike took the driver's seat and reached underneath to hotwire the car. The ignition started and he sped off with a screech, as Angel and gang just manage to get outside.

"Shoot at the tires!" Angel demanded.

Lackey number one lowered his gun. "But I just got 'em changed for you, boss," he said.

"Just do it!" he said, but it was too late. The black Lincoln disappeared around a corner.

* * *

The whole mission was deeply screwed. Buffy didn't know how she'd get Angel back to the station, or how she could report what happened. "All because of Mr. Gallant," she thought.

"What's your problem?" she demanded, with her temper getting the best of her.

Spike was concentrating on the road, and his face twisted in confusion when her words sunk in. "My problem? I just saved your life, pet. You don't know what that poofter would've done to you," he argued.

"I can handle myself just fine! Besides--," she demanded herself to think small-town runaway, "I love him!"

Spike scoffed, and Buffy knew it was working. "You really don't know what's what, do you luv?" he asked. The car made a sharp turn in between two warehouses, and Spike handled it like a pro.

"Woah Speed Racer, what's the hurry? They're not following us," she said. "And where the hell are we going?"

"Don't worry your pretty little face, luv. We're almost there," he replied. Buffy furrowed her eyebrows once she realized that smalltown girl wont keep her informed. This was going to take a lot more than her usual missions.

* * *

Spike slowed the car down till it was crawling. He was heading home, and the last thing he needed was to bring attention to the area. 

Back when he found the place, he was surprised to find that abandoned warehouses really do make good headquarters for underground criminals. A good fixer-upper in a location nobody cares about, which was right next to the city, made the best location for him. Wesley was a bit squeamish when they had to clean out the joint, but all in all it made for a good residence.

He sneaked a glance at his guest, and noticed that she was quite pissed. It was in her best interest that they got along, and it would be very difficult to rescue her more thoroughly with her hating him, so he decided to make an effort of being agreeable.

"We're heading to headquarters. You can stay with us till you figure out what you want to do," he said. He still got ice daggers. "Listen, whether you were in love or not, he'll want both of our heads by now," he added. That did the trick. Her mean face relaxed as she gave it thought, and Spike found himself missing the beauty of the angry face.

"So those abandoned warehouses really do work out, huh?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Yeah. We even managed to build some makeshift rooms. So you wont have to worry about your privacy."

She nodded, and for the first time noticed how the bottom of her dress was soaked in dirty water. He noticed as well, and tried not to notice how things clung to her.

"Erm, we got showers too. Kitchen and stuff as well. No worries," he said.

* * *

The gentle tone he was speaking in now was painfully sincere, and almost boy-like. Buffy had to consciously remind herself that this was a hardened criminal she was falling fo-- sympathizing with, even if he held a gentlemen grudge against brutes like Angel. In any case, things were looking up. It looked more and more like this was the man she was looking for. "For the case!" she reminded herself. He was most likely the one who's been making all those museum robberies. It seemed that he was the only one who wasn't in jail at the time... or ever.

She felt the car come to a stop, and realized that they were now inside a warehouse.

"Home sweet home," he said, getting out of the car. Buffy followed suite, and looked around in the big space. There was a huge wooden partition to the side, with a door. She assumed this lead to the actual 'home'. 

Spike opened the trunk and took out a large luggage. Buffy was supposed to pack for the case she would've had, but it fit into her new case perfectly. He lead her to the door, and took out a key for the lock. She found this very unrich, and wondered if this was her man after all.

* * *


End file.
